


Good Day

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, long day for Sean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic back in February (the 9th), and haven't made any progress on it since April 18th, apart from blinking at it and wondering when it was damn well going to write itself. I rediscovered it this afternoon, and after all that time letting it lie fallow, the missing pieces finally sprouted. My thanks to [](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/)**savageseraph** , First Among Fishes, for her beta work both now and when I first showed this story to her.

It had been one thing after another. The alarm clock, erroneously still sporting Daylight Savings, hadn't gone off at all, leaving Sean little time for a hot shower and shave, and no time at all for even a cuppa. On the way to work he found himself faced with an overturned lorry that had spilled chicken feed over three full lanes of traffic, slowing everything down to a crawl as the fire department scrambled to clean up the mess and police and bystanders alike ran up and down the grain-filled asphalt, waving off the pigeons that flocked there in greater and greater numbers.

Late to set -- which always set him up for a foul mood -- he found that the rest of the cast and crew, having been informed via dying cell that Sean was "fucking stuck behind these arseholes" without so much as the saving grace of a cigarette, set to work methodically devouring breakfast as a way to pass the time. They left him half a scone and a cold pot of tea which, Sean muttered darkly, "was just like those bloody English bastards," forgetting for the moment that he was counted among those ranks.

The rest of the day was no better. Take after take, Sean couldn't quite get his lines right, wasn't quite satisfied even when the director patted him on the back and declared that last one "Perfect!" Frustrated and annoyed at himself, Sean spent lunch huddled over his script, cramming lines into his head as he crammed a cold sandwich into his mouth. Fruit juice was all right as a chaser, but he wished fervently that it was something harder. The allotted hour slipped by far too fast, and it was nearly time for his next call when he remembered to ring home, and just as that sleepy, slow drawl answered, the bloody cell's bloody battery up and bloody-well died.

In his younger, more turbulent years, Sean would have pitched the phone across the trailer in a rage, hopefully taking out a mirror or lamp in the process. Instead, he simply considered it. Deeply.

It was without the slightest sigh of regret that he greeted the end of the working day, bidding cast and crew goodbye as he flew off the set to the dubious safety of his car, not even noticing he'd left his wallet behind.

So grateful was he to be seeing the backside of the day, he even managed to keep his cursing to a mild seven 'fuck's and twelve 'bugger's as he tore a carefully filled-in parking ticket out from under his windshield wiper, crumpling it into a ball before dropping it and grinding it into the pavement under his heel.

And it was a relieved moan that left his lips when his car engine graciously deigned to turn over on his fifth grinding try. He threw the car into gear and sped out of the parking lot just in time to join the evening crawl. As his bumper inched forward, his lips curled back from his teeth into a grimace that matched the mad, intent gleam flickering in his eyes.

***

"Hi," Viggo looked up from the pad he was scribbling on, blue eyes ablaze from some inspiration or other. _Had they always been that blue?_ "Tea?" He pushed a cup towards Sean and jerked a thumb at something bubbling on the stove. "Spaghetti," he said by way of explanation, "Thought we'd go simple and rustic tonight."

Sean nodded as he pulled out a chair and plunked himself down, hands automatically curving around the cup in front of him. _Proper British tea,_ he noted, surprised to feel the corners of his lips twitching upward. Viggo'd remembered milk-first this time around. He made a mental note to have a proper British beer and maybe even a proper British shag later in the evening; after all, most things were done better when they were done English. The cup only partially hid his smug smile as he brought it to his lips.

As the cup clicked against the saucer, Sean breathed in, lungs filling with the smell of yeasty, warming garlic bread, spiced tomatoes and meat. His mouth watered, and his stomach -- ever agreeable -- rumbled.

Viggo grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Hungry?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer, bobbing up from paper, pen and table to collect an uncorked bottle of red and a couple of glasses. "Just another few minutes, and you'll be fed." One of the glasses, now half-full, appeared before Sean a split second before chapped lips pressed a kiss to his temple. "Drink up."

Sean sat back in his chair, turning the glass in his fingers, holding it up to the light. On the other side, Viggo moved through ruby darkness, slicing bread, draining noodles, ladling out sauce.

"Good day?" Viggo murmured the words, a soft buzz that put Sean in mind of warm, idle afternoons kneeling in loam, the scent of flowers surrounding him, heavy and heady.

Tension, well-earned but only now noticed, began to melt from his muscles. Sean settled, slumping comfortably lower. "Mmhmm," he agreed, drawing in another lungful of savoury spice, tipping the glass to meet his lips, "Good day."

_Oh, yes. It's always a good day,_ Sean reflected as the wine trickled down his throat, _when one has a house husband to come home to._


End file.
